


Je m'appelle Claude

by sierraadeux



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierraadeux/pseuds/sierraadeux
Summary: The time when Phil told us they went to the Frieze art fair and played a game where they made up fake names, but make it a meet-cute.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Comments: 25
Kudos: 105





	1. Chapter 1

Dan stared at his reflection in the mirror, head cocked to the side as he tugged at the zipper against his neck - pulling his turtle-neck to a close. This was the fifth time he had zipped and unzipped and zipped the sweater he had on, twisting and turning in front of his mirror debating if unzipping the number, leaving the pale expanse of his shoulders and clavicle exposed, was just a bit too much hoe energy than he was willing to put out into the world today. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the top was flattering on him either way, but it also didn’t entirely look like _him_ either way. Well, except for the fact that it was black. With one last turn of the shoulder in the mirror, Dan’s mouth tugged up into a grin, maybe he didn’t _want_ to be himself today. 

Martyn rolled his eyes as he glanced in the rear view, catching sight of Phil in the backseat doubled over in a fit of giggles. He shook his head, unable to stop the smile that spread across his face as he glanced at Cornelia next to him, in a similar state of exuberance. She had her whole body turned towards the back, hand on Phil’s shoulder as they tried and failed to catch their breath. 

“No no no, you can’t-” Cornelia managed between fits of giggles, “We cannot...call Martyn... _Jeeves.”_

The two of them erupted back into laughter, even louder than the first bout of laughter that stemmed from Phil suggesting the trio adopt ‘arty’ names and personas to play out while they were at the art fair. Insisting they become the fancy art critic versions of themselves, Phil proclaimed he would be Gideon for the day, a well-to-do art collector that suspiciously only purchased marble sculptures of naked men for his mansion gardens. Cornelia, always on board for a bit of fun, declared she would only answer to Esmerelda, dramatically rolling her R’s as she explained she was traveling to the art fair with the intention of spending her most recent late husband’s life insurance check to fill her home with beautiful art. If this was the sixth husband that died of mysterious circumstances, well, she would just shrug and say that tragedy follows her with a wink and a cheeky fluff of her bright red hair. 

“Well he _is_ the one driving us!” Phil gestured towards his brother in the driver’s seat, “I think Jeeves suits him.”

“Yes, I am the one driving you two children and I can turn this car right around,” Martyn interjected, a playful sternness in his voice. There was no real threat there, Martyn loved when his weirdo brother and girlfriend played around with each other like this. Even though he tried to be more reserved, he was a Lester after all. And Lesters were nothing, if not just a little bit weird and silly, so he would always play along with them. 

Cornelia clucked her tongue, “You absolutely will not turn this car around, _Jeeves_ ,” the command sending her and Phil into another round of laughter, Martyn shaking his head but joining in this time. 

“Okay! Okay!” Phil wiped at the tears that were leaking from the corners of his eyes as he attempted to collect himself a few minutes later, “Have we all got our sillies out? I don’t think the fancy people at the Frieze would appreciate us cry laughing the whole time.” He pulled his phone from his pocket to check his hair and push the bits that had fallen out of his perfectly styled quiff back up off his forehead. 

“I really cannot take you two anywhere,” Martyn smiled as he squeezed Cornelia’s shoulder with his hand that was not on the wheel. 

Cornelia leaned into the touch, “You love it." 

“That I do, Esmerelda, that I do,” Martyn quipped back with a devilish grin on his face, ruining all of their attempts at re-collecting themselves as laughter filled the car again. 

Dan felt much better about his choice to zip his sweater into turtle-neck mode as the early October air whipped at his skin. The walk over to Regent’s park was brisk, but comfortable as it didn’t permeate to his skin, “A _s it should be, I paid 700 pounds for this top,"_ Dan muttered to himself as he walked.

He could pull off looking the part of upper-class art snob, but he couldn’t shake off his usual awkward Dan habits, mumbling to himself the whole way there. He wasn’t even sure why he was so adamant about going to the Frieze art fair by himself in some sort of snooty art hoe persona that wasn’t really him. But he had the idea and it seemed like fun, and Dan needed to have a bit of fun and get out of his own head for a bit. And besides, it’s not like he didn’t indulge in the finer things of life every now and then. So maybe he had more in common with his fictitious persona of Claude, art consultant to the rich and famous, than he would like to admit. Dan _did_ love a bit of role play. 

Most people would be intimidated or anxious to walk around a busy art fair by themselves. Dan, a self proclaimed introvert who cringes at the very notion of socializing with strangers, usually was one of those people. But he felt oddly at ease, and was even enjoying himself as he slipped into character. He found himself daydreaming of being the person that could look at these million pound art pieces and purchase them on a whim. Maybe he was getting too into it, enjoying himself too much, as he raised an eyebrow and held his thumb and index finger up to his chin imagining how pleased his celebrity client would be to own this...odd crystal rainbow skeleton sculpture...that they would praise him and quadruple his commission for his invaluable eye for art. _No one has a better eye than the most sought after art consultant in all of Europe, Daniel How-ah, I mean, Claude Howell_ _é._

Dan chuckled to himself as he moved on from the gay skeleton, and turned to see an installation that was just comprised of some actual cake set out. He rolled his eyes at it - and at the people standing around it, who were looking on as if it was the next Michelangelo’s David. Even trying to role play as an art connoisseur, Dan couldn’t understand what the hell was going on with most modern art these days. There was no way there could be some deeper meaning to some cake on a table. 

He was about to keep moving along when two people stepped away from the strange cake display and he was met with someone on the other side of the display, looking down at the cake with almost a...longing look in their eyes. Oh, and he was hot, like heartbreakingly hot. Perfectly arched eyebrows - many shades lighter than the dark chocolatey hair that sat on his head - were scrunched up in a way that was almost endearing. Now Dan wasn’t typically one to approach random attractive strangers, but Dan wasn’t really _Dan_ today, and he was riding the high of acting out his art hoe fantasies internally, so why not take it just a bit further. 

In other words, this man was very hot and Dan was very gay. And if his Claude persona wasn’t giving him all the confidence in the world, well, the way that the man across from him had his bottom lip just jutting out ever so slightly into a pout absolutely did. Dan whined, actually _whined_ , softly in the back of his throat at the sight, before shaking back into his confident persona, thanking his theater kid past, and moving towards the other side of the display. 

“You fancy a slice?” Phil jumped at the voice that shook him from his trance of... _well_...definitely not staring at the delicious looking cake in front of him. He was absolutely not thinking of how badly he wanted to just stick a finger in the icing, absolutely not. 

“It’s interesting how it’s...” Phil quickly racked his brain for a response that would sound like he was only just appreciating the art in an arty way and not thinking about stealing and eating cake from an art display, “it’s just a thought...on how people can think they can take things when they can’t!” 

“You are absolutely right,” the voice next to him ate up his desperate attempt at on the fly art interpretation. “It reminds me of-” the voice continued on, but Phil could barely keep up with it as he looked up from the cake and turned towards the person the voice was connected to. Because as Phil laid eyes on this definitely _not fake arty_ man, his heart fell to his ass. 

He smiled and nodded as he barely registered the words being spoken to him, something about... _anti-establishmentarianism_...and... _the sexual revolution_...being related back to the cake sat before them. The man next to him was gesticulating wildly as he passionately spoke about... _w_ _hat did he say? It’s a metaphor for communism?_ and Phil could barely keep up. But it wasn’t just because of the big words and art terms that Phil didn’t understand, it was that the big words and art terms were coming from the mouth of maybe the prettiest man he has ever seen in a Steve Jobs black turtle-neck getup. 

Phil nodded as he pretended to be interested in the deeper meaning of the cake display when in reality he really was only interested in the dimple that kept making an appearance on the man’s face, and the little patch of red blush that was peeking out from the fabric on his neck and up onto his cheek. How quickly the tides change, as Phil’s mind went from _do not stick your finger into the cake for a taste of icing_ to _do not stick your finger into a stranger’s cheek deformity_. Both equally inappropriate, but somehow both taking up all of Phil’s willpower. 

Phil zoned back into the reality that wasn’t just staring at a random hot strangers lips and dreaming about running his hand through soft brown curls, and attempted to keep up with the passionate rant the man was going on. 

“...and maybe we could all learn something from this cake. I know I _personally_ feel connected to its reflections on the climate change crisis.” The man ended his thought with a gesture towards the cake and then looked back to Phil with a raised eyebrow. 

Phil blinked, _what in the world is this bizarre and beautiful man on?_ He nodded again, matching the man’s smile, “Yeah, yeah I agree! Absolutely.” Phil racked his brain for any way he could possibly keep up a conversation with this arty man. “It really says a lot about society.” 

The hot arty man beamed at him and held out a hand, “My name’s Claude”, Phil took his surprisingly gentle hand in his own, “probably should have led with that before going on a rant about this incredible work of art, but I can’t help myself.” He flashed another bright smile and Phil had a hard time choosing whether to look at that smile, or the dimple that comes and goes, or the blush that kept its spot on his cheek, or - probably more appropriately - his eyes. “I’m an art consultant to all the people who are too wealthy to be bothered to be here. I was eyeing a few other pieces for clients but this one...this one just...” he gesticulates back towards the stupid cake display. 

“It takes the cake?” Phil interjected and almost started to kick himself for saying the dumb joke aloud, but it was immediately met with the beautiful sound of the other man’s laughter, his head tipping back as he clutched at his stomach. Phil couldn’t help but laugh himself, beaming with joy that he made this overwhelmingly attractive man laugh at a volume that was definitely not appropriate for a fancy art setting. When they both composed themselves Phil reached his hand out to the hot man’s shoulder “I’m Ph-” 

“Gideooooooon” Cornelia’s fake posh British accent sang in his ear as he felt her hand on his back, “Jeeves and I are going to the next section over there, I barely have spent the ten million pounds I came here with! We cannot be slowed down!” she continued with such a flourish that Phil had to hold in a laugh. He wondered why his brother’s girlfriend wasn’t an actor by trade with how well she was playing her role that they had been in all afternoon. 

“Go on ahead, I’ll meet back up with you guys.” Phil instructed and Cornelia nodded and sauntered away with as much flourish as she walked up with. Phil was left with a really odd situation and a difficult decision as he looked back up at Hot Ma- _Claude_ , he said his name was Claude. He could easily laugh it off and explain the silly game that he and his family were playing, but something about the intensity of Claude’s stare caught him off guard and he thought, _fuck it, this man is out of my league anyways why not have some fun?_

“Sorry about that, what was I saying?” Phil leaned into the other man’s space, “I’m flattered to meet you Claude, my names Gideon.” 

If Dan was ever to have a real life, record scratch-freeze frame moment, it would probably be now. But Dan wasn’t sure how he ended up in this situation, leaving the art fair with an attractive, funny, absolutely _perfect_ man’s phone number in his contacts. There was only one problem...actually there were definitely more than a few problems. 

The most glaring issue, was the fact that Dan wasn’t actually _Dan_ to this man. They paraded around the art fair together after their initial conversation, critiquing and commenting on the art before eventually parting ways. Dan’s commentary being things that he pulled entirely out of his ass, barely knowing the first thing about fine art. Especially in comparison to _Gideon_ , the art collector who kept comparing pieces to his own _sculpture garden_ at home. Dan just wanted to spend the afternoon at an art fair, not fall head over heels for a goofy, but charming, man that could literally be his sugar daddy. 

Dan groaned as he pinched at the bridge of his nose, pulling his phone out of his pocket to shoot off a few panicked texts to his flatmate as he walked home. 

_fuck_

_just met a cute guy_

_told him my name was Claude_

_what do i do now??????????_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in October after Phil told us in a live about their art fair antics, just dusted it off out of my google docs and decided _hey_ I should pick this back up, so here I am.....picking it back up....


	2. Chapter 2

Dan guessed the first step would be _actually_ texting Gideon. Which was, admittedly, a very difficult task to do. Texting someone you barely knew to arrange a _date_ was difficult enough for Dan - doing so when said person thinks your name is not your name is even worse. _Not like Dan has literally ever been in this situation before._

He paced his room, his flatmate’s hysterical laughter still ringing in his ears from their reaction to his woes. He loves Cris, he truly does, but lord knows why he thinks they will ever in a million years take the embarrassing situations he gets himself into seriously. That is why Dan had stormed off to his room, a dramatic - _but not really genuine -_ door slam echoing through their flat to emphasize his frustrations. 

“ _Should I inquire to the landlord how to change your name on the lease agreement?”_ Dan mocks Cris’s teasing tone under his breath as he paces. 

The worst part was that a section of Dan’s brain was saying, _okay maybe you could just change your name, if you change your name you don’t have to figure out how to explain this._ That thought alone wasn’t the worst part, it was the fact that he considered it for all of three minutes that was. 

_How_ , how does he get into these situations? Dan flopped down on his bed with a disgruntled groan, his arm slung over his eyes. He could just forget about it, let the number sit in his contacts untouched, and eventually he would get over his own embarrassment - not making it worse by actually contacting the guy. But he couldn’t. He absolutely could not do that, he was already off the deep end of infatuation. 

The question is: to come clean or not to come clean? 

On one hand, he could easily text Gideon, set up date, keep up the persona, _maybe get a few things into his system_. On the other, he _really_ liked Gideon, and he knew he would be digging himself into a bigger hole keeping up the lie, and he definitely wouldn’t be able to make this a one time thing. That was something he knew for sure. 

“Why am I like this?” Dan groaned loudly to his ceiling. He could hear a muffled laugh from the other side of wall. “Shut up!” he yelled back. 

“This is the worst thing I have ever done in my entire life,” Phil sighed, flopping down face first into his brother’s couch. 

“Worse than when you were sixteen and that girl thought you were dating her for three weeks because you were too _nice_ to correct her?” Martyn teased, slapping at Phil’s feet to get him to pull his dirty shoes off the couch. 

Phil groaned and complied, “We don’t speak of that.” 

“It’s really not that bad,” Cornelia sat down next to him, now that there was space on the couch. Phil turned his head to squint at her, eyes like daggers. 

“This is your fault.” 

“No, you can’t blame this on me! You could’ve immediately told him we were playing a game,” she quipped back, but leaned into Phil’s side to run a comforting hand through his hair anyways. 

Phil leaned into the touch, “But he was so arty,” he whined. “How could someone like that even like a _Phil?”_

“Oh hush you,” Cornelia hummed, Martyn shook his head as he made his way into their kitchen - presumably to prepare some much needed tea. “ _Everyone_ likes a Phil.” 

“Maybe not everyone!” Martyn teased from the other room. 

“Mar!” Cornelia warned, Phil just groaned, leaning back with a hand over his face. 

“Maybe he won’t text me, maybe he will realize I’m a fraud and do me the favor of not contacting me, maybe he-” 

“Shh,” Cornelia shushed him, leaning over to pull his hand away. 

“ _When_ he texts you, you tell him the truth, he’ll think its funny, and you lot will go out for a coffee. Kiss, kiss, fall in love.” 

Phil just groaned, sliding down the couch. Martyn laughed from the other room as Cornelia’s sing-song giggles filled his ear. 

“It’s not funny!” 

“Yes Phil, of course I will sing at your wedding.” Cornelia held a hand to her heart, “I’m honored you asked.” 

The daggers came back out, “I could k-” Phil was cut off by his phone buzzing in his pocket. He scrambled to pull it out, the message staring at him, taunting him and making his heart flip over all at once. 

**Unknown:** _hello gideon it’s me from the art fair if you haven’t come to your senses yet would you like to join me for a coffee sometime this week maybe_

Phil smiled down at his phone, his heart racing for many different reasons. Cornelia made a noise and flung herself into Phil’s shoulder, reading over it. Phil rolled his eyes as she started humming Wagner’s Bridal Chorus. 

Phil ignored her, tapping at the number as he contemplated how to word his response. 

**Phil:** _I’m free tomorrow afternoon if you are._

Phil watched the little grey dots appear and disappear a few times. He bit at his thumb, tuning out the _probably good advice_ that Cornelia was saying next to him. 

Eventually, a message popped up. Then a few more. 

**Claude:** _me too_

 **Claude:** _11 sound good?_ _i know a really cute brunch spot_

 **Claude:** _this close to you? we can pick a different place if not lmk_

A link was attached to the message and Phil clicked on it, Cornelia humming an “ _ooh_ ” in his ear, Martyn walking in the room inquiring what was going on. The website that came up was for a very trendy, borderline posh, cafe. He scrolled until he saw their address, just a stone’s throw away. With shaky fingers, Phil clicked back to their message thread and started tapping. 

**Phil:** _Sounds perfect! That’s super close to me, but I’ve never been!_

The dots did their dance again. Phil had completely checked out of the conversation that the two other people in the room were having next to him. 

**Claude:** _:)_

 **Claude:** _they do the best avo toast in all of london_

Oh great, he was an avocado toast kind of person. Phil shook his head, having to remind himself that this man that was very cute, who seemed very relatable, was probably an actual millionaire. _Not relatable._ But he thought Phil was one as well. _Hell,_ he thought Phil wasn’t Phil. Another message popped up, pulling him out of his worries. 

**Claude:** _i’ll meet you there then?_

 **Phil:** _See you tomorrow, Claude :)_

Phil dropped his phone on the couch and sighed. He _had_ to tell Claude who he really was before they get too far into the date. He can’t avoid it. He can’t leave it be, he isn’t a good actor at all. He had to tell him. 

Despite all his stress and worry over this date, Dan got dressed surprisingly quickly. He had his favorite ripped black jeans and striped black and white sweater on within minutes of exiting the shower - _honestly, could be a new record for him._ It was a quintessentially Dan outfit, the most _him_ an outfit could be. Because he wanted to be himself today, he needed to be Dan. 

Cris only proved Dan’s point, as he walked through through the lounge to leave, rolling their eyes at Dan from where they were lounging on the couch - sipping coffee from one of _Dan's_ mugs. 

“Do you own literally _any_ other outfits?” 

Dan just held his middle finger up as he grabbed his coat and keys, a “ _Love you too! Be safe!_ ” was called after him as he let the door shut behind him. 

Dan cursed himself, just a bit, as he started his trek of a walk to the brunch spot he picked out. _At least it’s nice out today,_ he tried to find a silver lining in his attempts at softening the blow of Dan being _Dan_ and not Claude to wealthy, fancy, _heart-stoppingly attractive_ Gideon. The place he chose was _definitely_ a place where rich, young millennials would frequent - typically a reason why Dan had only gone there a few times, he never really liked that vibe. But they _did_ actually do a mean avocado toast, with those little radish slices on top and everything, so Dan couldn’t be entirely mad at himself. 

He gave himself more than enough time to get to the cafe before eleven, with Gideon’s text about living close to it in mind. He wanted, no, _he needed_ to be the first one there - picking out a table and getting settled before he arrived would calm his nerves. Dan hoped it would, at least. He also, _still_ , had absolutely no idea how to tell Gideon that he was living out a weird art hoe fantasy and he wasn’t actually the character he had made up. 

Dan shrugged off his coat as he stepped inside, already surveying the room for the best open table as he walked up to the counter to get himself a coffee. The whole place was kind of overwhelmingly bright, stark white walls, tables, and counters, bright neon lights in random words and phrases - it was that whole modern Instagram aesthetic. There weren’t many people dining in though, which Dan appreciated. He managed to pull out a smile through all of his nerves, flashing it at the person behind the counter. They returned the smile, probably equally as fake as Dan's. He wouldn’t order food just yet, obviously, but he desperately needed a coffee - he hoped that wouldn’t come across as rude. 

A few minutes later, now armed with an overly expensive oat milk cappuccino, Dan settled at a table by the large front window - making sure to take the seat that faced the door. You know. For no reason at all. He checked the time on his phone, a few minutes until eleven, and sat back in his chair. He tuned in an out of the conversations being had around him as he stared into his cappuccino, the hearts in the foam stared back at him. They weren’t, but Dan felt like they were mocking him. 

Without a second thought, he stuck his index finger into the foam, swiping through the design so the hearts dissolved. He looked back up as he stuck the finger into his mouth, licking off the foam, and _god_ did he wish he hadn’t done that. 

Gideon was stood by the door, completely turned towards Dan at his table. Absolutely staring at Dan.

Dan, who had his _fucking_ finger in his mouth because he was playing with his coffee like a _child._ Dan couldn’t even drop his gaze, he just shamefully pulled his finger out of his mouth, using the same hand to do that _awful_ two finger salute he always does. _Zero for two, Dan, zero for two._

But Gideon just smiled, letting out a huff of a laugh that shook his broad shoulders, and stepped up to Dan. Dan took a moment to really appreciate the male form. Or uh, he took a moment to admire the bright roses that climbed up the sleeve of Gideon’s soft grey jumper, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and how _blue_ his eyes were behind his glasses - almost as if they were illuminated by the brightness of the cafe. 

_Maybe he could come to terms with living as Claude forever_ , if it meant never risking losing this feeling in his chest. 

Gideon stepped up to the chair opposite of Dan, resting his hands - _lord, those hands,_ Dan needed to be _stopped_ \- on the back of it. 

“Hi,” Dan breathed. 

Gideon’s smile widened, “Hi,” but then it faltered. Dan quirked a brow, nerves on high alert with the look on his face. He watched as Gideon gripped at the back of the chair, looking down at his hands, then back over to Dan. 

He looked nervous as well. 

“Before I sit down,” he started, Dan’s eyes flicking from his eyes to his mouth - where he bit at his lip, “I need to tell you something.” 

Phil felt like his entire body was on fire. But he had to do this. He had to say this _now_ , before he even sat down, because he knew how he was, if he didn’t he would put it off throughout the entire date and go home as Gideon still. He couldn’t do that, but it was just so _hard_ with Claude sitting across from him - an actual, soft curly-haired angel sent from above. Looking at him just made it harder. The embarrassed blush that flushed his face when he looked up to see Phil standing there, the way his eyes lit up when he realized there was nothing to be embarrassed about, he was just so _perfect._

Phil couldn’t imagine why any sane person would risk having this man angrily rush out the door, _maybe it would be easy to keep up the Gideon act -_ for this, for _him._

 _No._ Phil couldn’t. 

He gripped the back of the chair in front of him, a bit tighter. “I need to tell you something.” 

Phil sighed, hating the guarded look in Claude’s eyes. This was going to suck. 

“My name isn’t Gideon. I’m not a millionaire and I don’t live in a fancy mansion. I’m just a normal guy, a regular guy, well...I’m just a guy. With a one bedroom flat two blocks away that I can barely afford,” he rushed out all at once. 

Phil looked down at his hands, “I like video games and internet memes and everything else we talked about, that was genuine. I’m just…I’m just not some arty man. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lie, _really,_ I never lie. I-we...me and my family were playing a game, at the art fair. With fake personas to make it fun. I would’ve told you my real name if Cornelia hadn’t come up shouting my fake one. I just...panicked. And I wanted to impress you.” Phil looked back up at Claude.

Claude, who had a look of pure shock on his face. _Shit._

“I’m Phil. My name is Phil,” this was when Claude would go rushing out, calling him a liar and a peasant - or whatever rich people did. “I may not own dozens of marble sculptures of naked men, but I _do_ appreciate them. I wish I did own one though,” he tried to make the tone light again, praying the dimples on Claude’s face would return. 

But his face was unreadable as he looked back at Phil. 

“ _Phil_.” 

The way Claude said his name, his real name, almost broke his heart in two. Phil nodded, once, biting at his lip. But Claude didn’t storm off, he didn’t scoff or shout, he didn’t even frown. No, his mouth pulled up into a wide grin - both dimples on show. Before Phil could even react, Claude was loudly laughing, borderline hysterical, filling the entire cafe with nothing but the sound of his booming, wheezing laugh. 

_He’s laughing. At me._ Phil couldn’t be more mortified. It was hard to hurt though, even as he was literally being laughed at, because Claude laughing had to be the eighth wonder of the world. The sound was sweet, but so unfiltered and unabashed. It almost made Phil want to laugh, but he couldn’t, not when he was the one being laughed at. 

Claude finally looked back up at Phil, moving his hands from where they were clutching his stomach to wipe at the tears in his eyes. _Why did he have to be so cute?_ It was just making this whole situation harder on Phil’s heart. 

“Phil. Phil. _Phil,_ ” Claude held his hand out across the table, in a way that usually only meant that Phil was supposed to shake it, “My name is Dan.” 

_“Dan.”_

“Dan.” 

As it turns out, Dan and Phil had not one, but two hilarious stories to tell their future kids when they asked how they met. The story of Claude and Gideon - the millionaire art collector and the famed art consultant, and the story of their first date - the one where they got kicked out of a posh cafe for laughing too much. 


End file.
